


Pop the Top: Side Fic (MadaSaku)

by moor



Series: Pop the Top [3]
Category: Naruto
Genre: A/B/O, Blow Job, F/M, Frottage, Knot, Light Bondage, Lingerie, Madasaku - Freeform, Modeling, Modern AU, NSFW, PWP, Toys, adultery?, itasaku - Freeform, knotting kink, pearls
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-16
Updated: 2020-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:46:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28115634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moor/pseuds/moor
Summary: MadaSaku/ItaSaku. "Pop the Top"-verse/Modern AU. Sakura needs help with a gift for Itachi, and turns to the one person she knows can give her what she wants. Primarily MadaSaku. NSFW.
Relationships: Haruno Sakura/Uchiha Itachi, Haruno Sakura/Uchiha Madara
Series: Pop the Top [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1340338
Comments: 34
Kudos: 117





	Pop the Top: Side Fic (MadaSaku)

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Pop the Top](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8782747) by [moor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/moor/pseuds/moor). 



> This fic is based in the "Pop the Top"-verse, but is not necessarily "Pop the Top" canon-compliant. A wonderful reader shared their idea of a 'side fic' with me and graciously gave me permission to run with it. I hope you enjoy! (Thank you again to the special reader!)

“Again?”

Sakura’s expression fell as she held the phone to her ear. After the disastrous anniversary celebration the day before, she had hoped that she and Itachi could spend the next evening together.

From inside his car at the airport parking lot, Itachi’s voice turned apologetic. “It’s Clan work,” he said gently. “I’m sorry. I should only be away for a few days. A week at most.”

“Where to this time?” asked Sakura, sitting down on the bed in the hospital on-call room. It was another 24-hour shift, and she had been looking forward to cuddling with Itachi in his bed when she finished. Once again, her plans were changing against her wishes, it seemed. She slipped her shoes off and lay down on the bed, more exhausted than ever.

When Itachi hesitated to answer her, however, Sakura’s spirits fell.

“It’s OK. I get it,” she sighed.

“I’m sorry,” repeated Itachi. 

Sakura’s shoulders slumped. “At least it’s only a few days. Let me know when you get home.”

“I will,” promised Itachi.

The line went quiet a moment before Sakura heard a slight hitch in Itachi’s voice, before he continued.

“You could send me a reminder or two of you.”

Sakura’s cheeks warmed and she glanced around, fingers pulling at the hem of her top. She knew the room was private, but anyone with a key could unlock the door and enter… Her face fell when she remembered how poorly her previous selfies had turned out, however. And how her butt-selfies had been laughable.

“If I have time,” said Sakura vaguely. “I’m… less than artistic,” she admitted, laughing to herself.

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours,” teased Itachi, though his low voice had Sakura’s legs rubbing together restlessly. 

Damn. He played dirty.

But… How long had she longed for such a picture of him?

“A week?” repeated Sakura, thinking aloud.

“Hn.”

“I expect a very thorough show of gratitude for my patience when you get home,” said Sakura.

Itachi chuckled.

“Clear your evening. And morning,” said Itachi, and Sakura could hear the sinful smirk he wore.

“I’ll send you something… inspiring in the meantime,” teased Sakura. 

“Lace,” said Itachi immediately.

Sakura’s brow lifted. Itachi was making demands?

“Black,” added Itachi, his voice husky.

Normally Sakura would have told him to be grateful for whatever she could drum up, and considered sending him a shot of her cotton granny panties. The way his voice had changed, however, revealed he had thought about this with some intent. It meant something to him. This was his fantasy of her, and it was in her power to give it to him.

It  _ would  _ be nice to have some boudoir-level photos of herself for both of them, thought Sakura as she considered the idea. Perhaps she could convince Itachi to let her take similar pictures of him, later? The thought of Itachi stretched out naked on his back in her bed with nothing but a thin sheet covering him and his erection tenting the cotton, his hand casually lying beside it as he watched her with half-lidded eyes left Sakura dazed and aroused.

“I expect to receive in kind,” said Sakura, an idea forming in her mind. 

The way Itachi said “You will,” made Sakura’s toes curl in anticipation.

When they had said their goodbyes, Sakura double-checked her alarm and set her phone down on the nightstand. She let out a long, slow breath as she considered Itachi’s request.

She had spoken the truth. She did not have an artistic bone in her body. Biting the inside of her cheek as she closed her eyes, she admitted to herself that she knew someone who did.

Tossing herself onto her side, Sakura pulled the covers up over her shoulders and wondered how much she was willing to pay to ask for a favour.

Well, two favours, she admitted to herself, her brow furrowing.

* * *

Two days later, Sakura stared at the warehouse door with a mix of fear, anticipation and disgust. Disgust with herself most of all. 

She was doing this.

She was really doing this.

No more being wishy-washy, she decided as she reached for the buzzer. She had her mission. It was up to her to see it through. Before she could press the intercom button, the door buzzed and an automatic lock shunted open.

“Come in,” came a familiar, smug voice through the intercom speaker.

Her jaw tightening, Sakura took a deep breath and entered Madara’s studio.

* * *

The last and only other time Sakura visited Madara’s private studio was only days before. The sight of it matched the images burned into her mind: the way Itachi had been photographed with his hands down his shorts over in that corner, the way they had made love on the leather couch when they had been overcome by their instincts, the way Madara had lain with her, his robe falling open when she climbed atop him on the creamy carpet... Her cheeks burned slightly at the memories of being ‘knotted’ together with Itachi, of Madara’s lips on her body and her own unrestrained reactions to him. The further in she walked, the more she recognized and the tighter the anxiety in her stomach wound. 

Hearing a sound from the back, Sakura found her way to the room where the couch and plush, white carpet seemed to stare at her accusingly.

“You came,” remarked Madara from Sakura’s right side. 

His tall, broad frame filled the room as he came to stand beside Sakura. A tumbler of whiskey hung from his fingers as he leaned against the wall, appraising her. His cologne was light but unmistakable and Sakura recognized it immediately as the same one he’d worn  _ that  _ night. Her head swam a moment in confusion at the many contradictory feelings inside her, and she reeled herself back in.

Frowning at Madara’s phrasing, Sakura turned to him, crossing her arms.

“Thank you for seeing me on such short notice,” said Sakura stiffly. 

“Anything for someone so important to Itachi.”

Madara gestured to the couch and Sakura’s insides twisted violently at the thought of sharing it with the man who had taken advantage of her.

_ You gave your permission, _ she reminded herself.

_ Under duress _ , another part of herself answered.

_ You enjoyed it. _

Shaking her head, Sakura walked over to the couch but stayed far away from her host when she took her seat. Respecting her body language, outwardly, Madara lowered himself onto the opposite end of the leather sofa and crossed his legs, stretching his arms out over the back. His inky eyes never left Sakura as he sipped his drink.

“How can I help you?” asked Madara, eyeing Sakura through a curtain of loose hair. He was relaxed and indolent.    
Sakura wondered if he was trying to set her at ease or trap her.

“I came to ask you for two favours,” said Sakura. She wasn’t going to beat around the bush with Madara. Itachi had warned her thoroughly never to deal with him if she could avoid it—unfortunately she didn’t have many options available to her.

“Two?” asked Madara, his voice impressed. The hint of a smirk pulled at the corners of his sensual mouth. 

“I would like you to erase the photos you took of Itachi and me, from the other night,” said Sakura. Her face hardened. “You didn’t have permission to take them. I trust you to be a gentleman and delete them.”

“Done,” said Madara easily. 

Startled, Sakura’s eyes widened. Her hands gripped the leather of the couch tightly.

“What?”

“Already done,” said Madara. “Itachi gave me an earful. They’re gone.” 

“I don’t believe you.”

“Come with me,” said Madara, coming to his feet. He led Sakura to an office behind the studio with several computers, each equipped with dual monitors. Shaking the mouse on one computer, the desktop came into view on both monitors and Madara navigated through several subfolders in his “Trash” folder. 

“Here,” said Madara, double-clicking on a folder to open it. “These are the photos from that day. They’ll automatically be cleaned out this evening and overwritten.”

Sakura swallowed. “Prove that those are the ones.”

Leaning over the keyboard, Madara opened the folder and the screen was filled with over a hundred pictures from that evening.

Sakura’s head spun, her mouth going dry at the provocative images of herself hovering over Itachi, her legs on either side of his hips as he gazed up at her from the same couch she had just been sitting on. For the first time she saw the raw lust on her own face when she thought they had been alone, saw the way her mouth had opened slightly as he entered her beneath her dress that night, the way her fingers had gripped his shoulders more tightly as he lifted his hips—

“Enough,” said Sakura, her neck and chest heating. She swallowed to clear her throat again, looking away. The way Itachi had looked back at her in those photographs made her sex throb.

“Would you like a copy before I delete them entirely?” drawled Madara.

Frowning at him, Sakura shook her head. It would not be right to keep those pictures. Not such an intimate, private moment, caught by a third party without their consent. “No. Please delete them now.”

Sakura unconsciously held her breath as Madara vanished the folder with a click of his finger.

“Thank you,” said Sakura quietly.

Madara nodded once and led Sakura back to the couch after a moment, saying nothing further. For her part, Sakura was stunned. She had not anticipated the pictures being as beautiful and raw as they were. It was obvious Madara had spent some time adjusting the lighting in them, touching them up, doing some kind of digital magic because there was no way she looked so alluring all on her own. But it gave her hope that her second request would be adequately completed.

She glanced over at Madara, surprised to find him calmly watching her reactions. But he made no move to influence or intimidate her.

Taken aback, Sakura relaxed, sinking into the warming leather. She had expected a fight, a proper row to get Madara to give the photographs up. Inside her chest, another part of her warmed at the knowledge that Itachi had taken up the issue with Madara already. Madara had seemed so imposing to her before, so indomitable. At that moment, however, he waited patiently for her to make her own move. 

Glancing at Madara from the corner of her eye, Sakura wondered if perhaps she had misjudged him.

“You really did delete them?” she asked him again, just to be sure.

Madara nodded once. 

“Your second request?” he asked, taking another sip of his whiskey, completely unaffected. “Unless you just came here to stare at me all evening, in which case, you may continue.”

Taking as subtle a breath as she could, Sakura held Madara’s gaze.

“I need your help.”

Swallowing to clear her throat, Sakura avoided looking at Madara for a moment as she admitted, “I’m terrible at taking selfies. I always thought it was vain, so I never learned how to take them. Now they all turn out looking like garbage. I want your help to take some nice pictures of myself to give to Itachi as a gift.”

As Sakura focused on a piece of lighting equipment a few feet away, she missed the way Madara’s drinking paused, even as his Adam’s apple bobbed once.

“I’m not sure if you’re available this week, but I’d like them ready for Thursday,” said Sakura. “If possible. Is it possible?”

“Anything is possible,” said Madara, lowering his glass. 

Leaning forward and her hopes rising, Sakura perked up.

“For a price,” he added silkily.

Her stomach clenching, Sakura folded her hand in her lap to keep her nails from sinking into the leather (again). She forced herself to remain civil. 

“May I ask what your rates are?”

“Negotiable,” replied Madara lazily.

_ Do not trust him. _ Itachi’s voice whispered sternly in Sakura’s mind.  _ Madara is practically fae with how he manipulated words. Do not make any deal with him, ever. He will own you. _

Uncrossing her legs, Sakura reached down to collect her purse from beside her feet. She drew out her chequebook and an ink pen and looked at Madara expectantly.

Madara’s chuckle sent tingles down Sakura’s spine; and then back up again, as he tilted his head to look at her once more.

“Your money is no good here, Sakura,” he said sardonically. His amusement was clear, but the way his lips rolled her name off his tongue transformed it into an aphrodisiac.

A fluttering took root in Sakura’s stomach, climbing higher, but she shoved it down. 

Madara shifted on the couch, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees as he continued appraising Sakura from head to toe.

“You want the pictures by Thursday?” he repeated, the tumbler dangling from his fingers. He swirled it once or twice.

“Yes.”

“That’s not a lot of time. Are you willing to work hard for them? Do as I say to make them worth the effort? Worth my time?”

The fluttering got stronger, but Sakura pushed on.

“Yes.”

“Are you sure?” he asked, lifting his drink to his lips. Sakura couldn’t tear her eyes away from his lips. “You just made me delete an entire evening’s work. You could have used those pictures. They were very… natural.”

Straightening her spine, Sakura ignored the Itachi-voice inside her that insisted this was dangerous and she should abandon the studio immediately and flee from the man before her.

“Those pictures were of a very private moment and you didn’t have our permission to take them. Using them would feel tainted,” said Sakura, her lips twisting with the disgust that still roiled in her stomach when she thought about the way the evening had turned. “I want something that I agreed to. I’ll do whatever you ask—within reason and comfort,” promised Sakura, setting her shoulders.

Madara’s smirk was triumphant as he nodded.

“Then I will see you in two evenings when you finish work, Sakura.”

When Sakura returned to her car, relief washed over her that she had escaped the first meeting with Madara mostly unscathed; but it was overshadowed by the uncanny feeling that she had just set her foot down squarely in a spider’s web.

* * *

When Sakura returned to Madara’s studio, two days later, it had been transformed. 

Gone were the couch and other bric-a-brac, scattered around the room. In their place were a faux-brick wall and a king sized bed piled high with pillows and fluffy, feather-soft blankets. The lighting was subdued, with candles lighting certain areas for effect, and the windows were covered by gauzy curtains. The carpet remained the same plush ivory that she remembered, but a wooly comforter had been tossed on the ground like a rug, softening it further. 

On the opposite side of the studio, a section of the room remained open, though an antique rose velvet couch with carved mahogany feet had been moved in in front of a plain gray wall. The sofa was flanked by a pair of end tables in matching mahogany style, one with a vase on it, the other with an antique clock. 

Sakura looked between the two settings, understanding immediately the luxurious comfort of the one and the classic styling of the other, and wondered what Madara’s plans were. She admitted to herself the curtains were a nice addition in both suites, too, and would provide privacy; something she hadn’t considered during her previous visits to the studio, she realized sheepishly. Anyone could have looked in the windows when the room had been so brightly lit up during her time there with Itachi and Madara. She had been so absorbed by her needs that first night she hadn’t thought straight about anything. It was embarrassing, she thought, looking back at her behaviour. 

The new set up in the studio was incredibly inviting, she realized.

Biting her bottom lip, Sakura resisted the urge to run her hand over the soft blankets on the bed, but just barely. She wanted to dive into it and roll herself up in the inviting textures, feel them against her skin. 

“Would you like to change?”

Madara’s voice startled Sakura’s mounting fascination with the bed and its nest of blankets.

Looking over her shoulder at Madara who set up his camera, checking its settings, Sakura took a deep breath and opened her coat, revealing a black lace teddy and garter combination that she hoped Itachi would appreciate. Ino had done her hair and makeup for her, and Sakura liked the light smoky eye look and romantic waves and curls Ino had pinned in her hair. From her shoe bag, Sakura set down a pair of black heels and stepped into them, careful not to let her thigh-high stockings catch on anything as she checked herself over in a mirror.

“Is this okay?” Sakura asked, turning to hang her coat and bag on a nearby stand. 

With her back turned, she missed the way Madara’s throat worked, the way his hands tightened on the camera. Her nerves ratcheted up the longer Madara remained silent, so she turned to look at him.

“It’ll do,” said Madara, his tone bland.

To Sakura’s surprise, a tremor of disappointment shimmied through her. She immediately shook herself mentally. This was not about impressing Madara, this was about pleasing Itachi, she reminded herself. She certainly was not there to get a reaction out of Madara; it would be stupid to taunt him, in fact. 

With that in mind, Sakura swallowed her singed pride and straightened her shoulders, facing Madara with her hands on her hips.

From his pocket, Madara drew out his phone and played with it. A moment later, ambient music with a low, sensual drumbeat surrounded them.

Heat swirled low inside Sakura at the primal sound, and the urge to move to it took over her. Restless, she walked toward the scenes Madara had laid out for her. 

“Where do you want me?” asked Sakura, voice huskier than she expected. 

“On the bed,” directed Madara. “Sit down and stretch. Slowly,” he added, following her. He lifted the camera, his focus shifting to the screen. “Touch the blankets.”

_ Gladly, _ thought Sakura.

Sakura did as directed, letting out an unexpected sigh at the perfect softness and wrapping it partly around herself to feel more of it against her skin. 

“This one is my favourite,” she declared immediately, a smile spreading across her lips. Her whole body relaxed as she pulled the blanket to her cheeks and buried her face in it. It had a faint scent to it that she couldn’t place, but that immediately drew her in.

_ Yes, _ her inner self purred.  _ This was the best feeling. _ Surrounded by this, this, this. Something about the scent of it called to her, begging her to dive into it. Her legs rubbed against each other restlessly.

“Lie down on the blanket, on your front,” directed Madara.

When Sakura looked up at him questioningly, her hand at her ankle to slip off her shoes, Madara shook his head.

“Leave them on,” he said smoothly.

Sakura arched a brow, but Madara just smirked. “Trust me.”

Something niggled in the back of Sakura’s mind, but she pushed it aside. Trusting Madara knew what he was doing, Sakura lay down on her front on the bed and couldn’t resist bringing the blanket up to her face to bask in its softness against her throat and cheek. Unconsciously she began rubbing against it, and had to push away the urge to purr with satisfaction. Her legs were crossed, her feet in the air as she arched her back and sighed contentedly.

“That's it,” murmured Madara. “Now look up at me.”

A bit dazed, Sakura did, and a wave of something washed over her, her lips falling open.

Madara’s dark eyes watched her carefully, hiding something in their depths. Yet, something in them tugged at the coil that tightened in her core. And his words...

Sakura held her breath as Madara approached her. Careful not to touch her skin, he very deliberately re-arranged her hair. His cologne wafted around Sakura, strangely calming and exciting her at the same time. She strained towards his body to take in more of it.

“Hold that,” he directed.

Eager to please him, Sakura did, drinking in his scent as he came into her personal space.

The sound of the camera faded into the background as Madara continued posing Sakura. Having her flip onto her back and cross her legs; sitting up and stretching; sweeping her hand through her hair slowly while looking at him over her shoulder; pulling up her stocking. Through it all, Madara would weave into Sakura’s personal space, re-arranging her hair, tilting her chin, or adjusting her arms. She became increasingly restless through the process. Madara would touch her sparingly, never longer than a second, and Sakura found herself becoming more and more frustrated with each direction. It probably had to do with being somewhat touch-starved for Itachi as he’d been away nearly a week, but when Madara leaned in once to angle her chin, Sakura unconsciously turned her face so he would cup her cheek. That simple caress thrilled her beyond anything she could have imagined, and the scent of him, so close, had her insides melting.

An urge built in Sakura. She soon sought ways to have Madara get close to her, touch her, put his entire hands on her exposed skin.

“Like this?” she asked, deliberately misunderstanding.

“No, like this,” he would say, and physically move her where and how he wanted her.

“Stand by the mirror,” directed Madara, looking down at the camera.

The way he paid more attention to his camera than to her irritated Sakura. She wanted his attention. She wanted him to watch her. How dare he look away from her?

So Sakura did more than he asked for. She let herself feel her urges, giving in to them. Her movements became more languid, her arousal showing through, as she held Madara’s gaze through his camera lens.

_ Let’s see him ignore this, _ she thought.

The urge Sakura didn’t understand took control of her, and she let something primal inside her slip loose. Her confidence spiked when she noticed the way Madara’s eyes widened, his chest rising and falling as his breathing deepened. His gaze slid to Sakura out of the corner of his eye, and Sakura watched him adjust his weight on his feet.

A hint of a smug smile pulled at Sakura’s lips as she sauntered to the mirror, her hips swinging just a little more than was necessary. He was definitely watching her now; she could see his stare burning into her in the mirror.

“Sakura,” said Madara warningly. “What are you doing?”

“Posing,” said Sakura, arching her back while lifting her hair off her shoulders. “It’s just so hot in here. Maybe I’ll open a window,” she added. And without waiting for Madara’s permission, she walked to the window and hefted it open, the flimsy curtain blowing in and around her. The cool air gusted inside, leaving the faint sweat on Sakura’s skin feeling refreshed.

“That’s better,” she purred, leaning her head back so her throat was exposed. “That feels so good.”

“Sakura,” snapped Madara.

“What?” asked Sakura, her eyes wide and innocent when she knew she was anything but in that moment. She wanted to be touched. She needed to feel his hands on her. She needed him to satisfy this urge inside her. She held his gaze in the mirror and slid her hands slowly down her body, tracing her curves.

Madara’s chest rose and fell once before he pointed at the bed.

“Take off your top,” he ordered, his throat working.

Inside Sakura, her core tightened at the order even as a part of her still bristled at his tone. She wanted his praise. She wanted his approval. She wanted his touch. But the conflict inside her left her struggling to enjoy his orders.  _ This isn’t for him, this is for Itachi. _

Then Sakura realized she had a different problem—or was it?

“I need your help,” she admitted quietly.

“Hn?” 

Her cheeks warming, Sakura turned, exposing her back to Madara—along with the dozens of tiny hooks that held her teddy closed. 

“I can’t reach them all.”

“How did you get into this?” drawled Madara, shaking his head and coming to help her.

“Ino did the ones I couldn’t reach,” said Sakura, still holding up her hair.   
Madara chuckled. 

“What?”

“Nex time,” instructed Madara, leaning in close to Sakura’s ear so his lips ghosted over her skin. Goosebumps rose down her spine as she felt his touch trail slowly down each of her exposed vertebrae. His scent surrounded her and Sakura found herself softening under his touch. “Find one with laces. Or that opens from the front.”   
He paused, and Sakura was sure she heard the  _ click-click-click _ of his camera, making her hold her breath as the warmth of his hand disappeared from her skin.

“Though it is a gift to a man’s pride for a husband to unwrap his wife like this,” Madara whispered before gently pulling away from her. 

The teddy fell to the floor at Sakura’s feet, and it took a moment before Sakura remembered to lift her arms up to cover her chest. Madara’s resulting chuckle made Sakura’s legs even more restless, and she frowned at him over her shoulder through the falling waves of her hair. She was met with his camera,  _ click-click-click _ .

“Get on your back with your hands between your legs,” ordered Madara. “And fold your knees up, yes, just like that.”

As Sakura sank into the blanket again, the same yearning as before filled her. Something was missing. She needed more. But what?

“Something wrong, Sakura? You don’t look as relaxed.”

Pouting, Sakura felt her cheeks flush. 

“It’s a very… private pose,” she said. She wriggled a bit but still could not quite find herself comfortable.

“Hn…”

Sakura decided to close her eyes and visualize herself relaxing at home. What would she normally be doing in this position? She snorted mentally. Normally, she would have her hands in Itachi’s hair, pulling him in closer as his shoulders pressed her legs wider apart, his lips sealed around her—

Madara’s hand on Sakura’s knee, gently parting her legs, had Sakura freezing up.

“Use this,” said Madara, offering Sakura—

Sakura’s eyes flew open. 

“Has that been used before?” she asked, voice high.

“No.”

She bit the inside of her cheek. She’d heard about those. Had, in fact, secretly wanted one but with Itachi, she assumed she would not get much use out of it. But now…

“Hold it like this,” said Madara, as Sakura achingly slowly opened her legs for him to reach between her thighs and place the Satisfyer Pro in her hand. “This is the power button. This is the mode button. Hold your arm over it like this,” he said, positioning it in her hand, “so the camera doesn’t see it.” 

Madara’s warm hand over hers, in such a private area, had Sakura swallowing, her pulse racing. His scent surrounded her, and she found herself unconsciously turning her whole body toward him. She knew she was reacting to him and prayed he could not smell her arousal the way she could. It was embarrassing. 

Another part of her wanted to drag him down by the hair the way she would Itachi.

“It goes under your panties, Sakura,” said Madara, holding her gaze.

Oh no! He could probably see by the state of her panties that she was…

Nodding, Sakura felt her face burning.

“Good,” said Madara, watching her a moment. His smirk widened. “Now, turn it on and act natural. Show Itachi what you’ve been thinking about doing since he’s been away. Remind him of what he’s missing when he leaves you alone, night after night.”

Sakura’s heart pounded in her chest. Could she really do… this? Could she touch herself like this, with Madara in the room? 

_ Do it, satisfy both of you, _ whispered another part of herself.

“You said you’d do what I asked, Sakura,” reminded Madara. “Or don’t you want my help?”

_ You can do this, Sakura, _ she coached herself. _ Just… let yourself go. _

With careful movements, Sakura adjusted her arms to ensure she was still covering her breasts, and then slipped the sex toy under her panties. There. Step one.

Taking a deep breath, she moved it down, her brows furrowing.

“You need to use one hand to part your labia so it fits inside against your clitoris,” said Madara. “Would you like help?”

“No,” muttered Sakura, letting her head fall back again. She slid her fingers down, spreading herself and tilting the head of the toy so it pressed against the slick, sensitive spot inside her. “I just need a sec—oh!”

Her hips rose straight up off the bed as the first wave of sensation hit her.

“Steady, Sakura,” commanded Madara. “Hold your pose—”

“Ngh.” Sakura’s eyes fluttered shut as the waves began to build inside her. She tried to keep both knees up, but her hips began writhing as she struggled to keep up with the suction on her clit. Her body undulated more and more as the pressure built inside her.

“That’s it,” coaxed Madara, stepping closer.  _ Click-click-click _ . “Feel it. Let it touch you.”

“W-want,” gasped Sakura, the sensations taking over.

“What do you want, precious?” cooed Madara, stroking Sakura’s hair.  _ Click-click-click _ . He breathed deeply, his chest rising and falling. 

“Want it so badly,” murmured Sakura, half-delirious.

“What do you need?” asked Madara, stroking Sakura’s cheek. 

One of Sakura’s hands escaped from her legs and reached blindly. It connected with Madara’s thigh and suddenly gripped harder..

“Off,” she begged, tugging at his pants. “Off, please.”

“What do you want, Sakura?” coaxed Madara as Sakura’s hand grabbed for his belt. His hand stroked down her throat to her clavicle and back up again, even as Sakura arched her back, presenting her throat and chest to him. Madara let more pheromones leak from him at the display of her submission. The candles he’d burned that evening, the blanket he’d wrapped around himself as he masturbated earlier before Sakura arrived, the scent of his own pheromones which infused every inch of the studio that night—it had all been worth it to hear Sakura’s next words.

“Touch me, please,” begged Sakura. “I need you, Madara. I need to touch you.”

Madara’s smirk grew. 

He undid his belt and opened his trousers. “Take it out, if you want to touch me.”

Sakura did, gasping with relief as she felt his thick, hard erection, so smooth, in her hands. A soft moan escaped his lips and he shifted.

“Pump me slowly, if you need to,” commanded Madara graciously, his hand trailing down Sakura’s chest but never far enough to reach her breasts. His fingers traced her clavicle, the sensitive skin of the side of her breasts, but never the hardening tips of her nipples.

_ Click-click-click. _

“Sakura?” said Madara thickly as she writhed beneath his touch. She continued squeezing and working him in her hands, and he struggled to hold his hips still.

“Y-yeah?”

“You’re not allowed to come until I tell you,” said Madara, lovingly sweeping Sakura’s hair from her forehead as she began to tremble. “If you come before I let you, you’re going to have to start all over again.”

“Ngh, but, I’m so close,” panted Sakura. She pumped him harder to try and convince him.

“Shhhhhh,” said Madara, his fingertip tracing circles just around the edge of her nipples. Sakura panted harder, whining and twisting. “You want to be a good omega, don’t you? You want to make me proud? You want to please me, Sakura,” coaxed Madara, inching ever closer to the stiff peak of her closest nipple.

Omega?   
Sakura didn’t understand what Madara was talking about, but a part of her, deep inside her which had become so overwhelming that evening, preened beneath his attention. Yes, she realized, yes, she really did want to please him. She wanted his praise. She was desperate to be his pride, and to celebrate with her own pleasure.

“What do you want? I’ll do anything,” begged Sakura.

Madara’s hand slid down between Sakura’s knees until he covered her own furiously working hand at the apex of her thighs. Her hand on his cock trembled as she held him, frozen in place.

“We’ll come back to this,” he said gently, pulling it free from her clenched fingers. “But I want you to go to the other couch, first.”

Her heart racing, Sakura’s head rolled to the side. The velvet, antique couch. She looked up at Madara’s dark, gleaming eyes.

“Yes,” she whispered. 

“Go kneel on the couch,” said Madara softly, stroking Sakura’s cheek.

It took Sakura several tries to get her knees to work as she released Madara, but they did. Her heels were muffled by the plush carpet, her arm across her chest kept her covered for modesty, though as she reached for the back of the couch, her brow furrowed. She couldn’t reach it unless she used both hands.

Madara’s hand on her back soothed and encouraged Sakura, and she looked at him over her shoulder. His pants were still undone, but his shirt hid him from her greedy hands.

“Up,” he ordered, patting her black lacy bum and giving it a light slap.

Sakura swallowed her yelp and looked crossly at Madara over her shoulder again, but he just chuckled. Sakura reached with both hands, pulling herself up on the couch on her knees. Her back faced Madara.

“Look at me, Sakura. Just like that,” he praised, smirking as the camera went  _ click-click-click _ .

“Now, put your hands behind your back,” said Madara. From the nearest end table he opened a drawer and drew out a long, blue velvet jewelry box. “And do not pull them apart. This is delicate.”

“What is?” asked Sakura, trying to see what he wrapped around her wrists.

“This string of pearls,” said Madara, neatly knotting Sakura’s wrists together. The pearls were smooth and cool against her skin, soon warming up, but the knobbiness of them felt strange. They were loose enough to allow movement, but not so loose they fell off. The looser loops fell against the sensitive skin of Sakura’s lower back, almost tickling her. 

The black lace panties Sakura still wore were a beautiful contrast to the white pearls, and Madara could not help but admire the way the scene fit together. It was even better than he imagined.

“Costume jewelry?” asked Sakura.

“No,” chuckled Madara. “They’re worth more than Itachi’s car.”

Sakura froze. She may not know exactly how much Itachi’s car had cost, but she knew luxury cars like his cost more than houses.

Sensing Sakura’s tension, Madara’s hand caressed her flank, massaging her.

“Relax, they look beautiful on you,” murmured Madara, his lips warm against the hair that had slipped loose to curl in waves near her throat. “Now, stay here while I take a picture of you tied up like this.”

“Like a prisoner?” asked Sakura. Again she looked at Madara over her shoulder. 

The hungry look in his eyes, however, surprised her. She swallowed as lust filled her all over again, and she rubbed her legs together.

“Wrapped like a present,” corrected Madara. “Remember what we talked about earlier?”

She did. She remembered the feeling of Madara’s hands on her back as he undid the hooks of her lingerie. She remembered the way his words ghosted across her skin. 

“Almost done,” said Madara. 

Sakura heard something soft fall to the floor behind her. 

“Come down and kneel,” ordered Madara softly, taking Sakura’s elbows and helping her stand from the couch. With care, he guided her down to kneel on the silk cushion he set on the floor before the couch.

“Remain,” he said, and Sakura swallowed as she heard the  _ click-click-click _ of his camera. She knelt. She knew what kneeling meant. 

Then Madara moved in front of Sakura and took a seat on the velvet couch. He spread his legs wide, slowly, on either side of Sakura. His pants were still undone, and Sakura could smell and see his arousal, now, as it peeked through his shirttails. 

“Close your eyes,” said Madara, and Sakura couldn’t help leaning in as she did so. She knew she was within kissing distance of his cock. It made her dizzy with want, even as her jaw worked as she tried to suppress it. No. These were photos for Itachi. They weren’t meant to be pornographic. But Sakura’s willpower was fraying, and Madara smelled so good, and she wanted to please him, she wanted his praise, she wanted—

_ Click-click-click _ .

“Keep your eyes closed, Sakura,” murmured Madara, his hand guiding the back of Sakura’s head closer. “That’s it.”

Her arms still bound behind her, Sakura leaned forward as far as she could, her naked breasts resting against the front of the firm, velvet couch between Madara’s knees.

“Closer,” coaxed Madara, and Sakura crept closer and closer desperately, until she felt the skin of his inner thighs against her cheeks, the scent of his musk so close she breathed him in.

“Now lick me,” said Madara, and Sakura felt the smooth, warm, sticky tip of him pressing against her lips. “Then be a good omega and take me all the way in.”

_ Click-click-click. _

The taste was so familiar to his scent from just days ago that Sakura moaned as she pressed kisses to his cock, her lips mapping him sensually from slit to sac. This. She had missed being so close to an alpha, so lucky to be given such a privilege. She had gone down on Itachi before, of course, but never had it felt like such a reward. Sakura’s insides sang at Madara’s pleasured moans, knowing she had made him feel so good. She had worked so hard that night, and now he let her taste him at her leisure.

Resting her head on Madara’s thigh, Sakura began swallowing him, sucking on his cock gently at first, then with more force. She pressed her face forward, angling her head so she could massage his sac if she tilted her chin just so. The way Madara stroked her hair, praising her, relaxed and encouraged Sakura. 

Then she felt it.

Sakura’s jaw began to ache, and she eased back, relaxing her jaw muscles and pulling back slightly, only to find she was stuck. Running her tongue around him in her mouth, Sakura noted that there was a new swelling at the base of him, just inside the front of her mouth.

Madara chuckled over her, still stroking her hair down to her cheek, smoothing his thumb along her jaw.

“You did a good job, Sakura,” he praised. 

Opening her eyes, Sakura looked up at Madara, her brow furrowed. She couldn’t speak; her mouth was too full of his cock and the swelling.

“It’s just a small knot, this time,” explained Madara. “You want it, don’t you? You want to impress me. I’ve never given anyone else this knot,” said Madara soothingly, holding Sakura’s gaze. “If you take this knot, I will reward you even more.”

The knot caught in her mouth pulsed, and Sakura’s heart skipped. A knot. A knot like the other night. But Itachi was not there this time. What would happen?

Her question must have been clear in her eyes, as Madara tutted her softly.

“This won’t affect you negatively,” he promised. “And if you do as you’re told, we’ll get your new toy again.”

Sakura’s heart fluttered, and her expression gave her away as Madara leaned down to caress the curve of her breast.

“Only if you want it, Sakura,” he offered gently, then his hand stilled. “But I won’t offer it again.”

Sakura swallowed.

Then, still holding Madara’s gaze, she began massaging his knot with her tongue. She traced the sides languidly, still sucking and swallowing his cock down her throat. Her jaw would ache in the morning, she knew it, but the feeling of Madara’s thighs trembling beneath her as he sucked in a breath, breathing “Sakura…” in worship, made her feel powerful.

When he began swelling again, she made a noise of warning in her throat, but Madara just held her head closer. 

“Just a bit more,” he grunted, his hips rising up forcefully. “That’s it, just like that. Good girl, that’s it. You’re such a perfect omega, Sakura,” praised Madara. 

Then his powerful thighs tensed, and Sakura knew what was coming. 

The deluge that exploded down her throat as Madara’s cock ejaculated choked Sakura, but the knot prevented her from turning away. 

“Swallow,” commanded Madara, stroking Sakura’s throat. “You need to swallow.”

Coughing and swallowing, Sakura’s eyes watered as he pumped more and more inside her. Her cheeks, jaw and throat ached, but still Madara’s hips thrust, his cock and knot pulsed, coating her insides with his seed. 

The taste of him would never fade from Sakura’s memory, she knew, but there was so much more than she’d expected. This was a small knot? How could he say that?

It made her insides coil tighter at what it may be like to take Madara’s ‘large’ knot inside her, between her legs. The thought sent a wave of heat and wetness between her legs, and Sakura shifted restlessly as she continued swallowing.

There was just so much!

Was this what it was like when she would be shared, later? In a triad?

If this was a small knot, and Madara was fully in control of himself, how would it feel if he became overwhelmed? If he lost control? 

Itachi, realized Sakura.

He would be like Itachi. He would become stuck inside her, constantly ejaculating until she literally dripped of him.

The idea that should have seemed disgusting instead made Sakura’s insides clench, hard, and she pressed her face into Madara’s groin further, breathing in him and his pheromones, rubbing her face in him until she knew she must smell of him.

It unleashed a second round of spurting inside her, and Sakura welcomed it this time, swallowing more and nuzzling Madara’s thighs.

“Sakura,” moaned Madara. “Ngh, my omega…”

When she finally licked him clean, Sakura painfully released her jaw, panting, and lay her head on Madara’s thigh again. She closed her eyes as she caught her breath. Soothing her, Madara’s hands rested in her hair, his camera forgotten. The knot that had swollen inside her had released, and Madara’s cock slipped from between Sakura’s lips, spent.

Madara’s chest rose and fell as he tried to regain his composure, and his lead lay back against the top of the antique couch, his eyes closed.

“Did I earn my reward?” asked Sakura a few minutes later, when Madara failed to stir.

Opening one tired, sated eye, Madara looked down at Sakura’s cheeky grin.

* * *

When Madara lifted Sakura in his arms, she expected him to place her on her feet and release her pearl bindings. Instead, Madara carried Sakura back to the bed and tugged down her panties.

“N-no,” gasped Sakura, tensing.

Madara lifted the Satisfyer Pro, arching a brow at Sakura.

Sakura’s protests tempered, though she remained tense when Madara picked her up again and sat her on his lap. She looked between the bed and him. She wiggled her shoulders.

“I want my hands free.”

“Soon,” promised Madara. His hand stroked her bare shoulder.

No longer modest in the least around Madara, Sakura relaxed in Madara’s arms, watching him watch her.

“You’ve come to trust me, haven’t you?” remarked Madara, his voice and expression even.

“I know you won’t hurt me irreparably,” corrected Sakura. “And I’m resilient.”

Madara’s eyes appraised Sakura.

“And it isn’t in your best interests to alienate me too much, if Itachi gets his way,” said Sakura lightly. 

“Will you be telling Itachi just what you did to get these pictures for him?” asked Madara smoothly.  
  
When Sakura opened her mouth to reply, Madara brought the Satisfyer Pro to the inside of her thigh, trailing it higher.

“Eventually,” said Sakura, her blood warming in her veins like rocket fuel igniting. She shifted, subtly opening her legs more to entice him closer to where she wanted him to touch her. 

“So I can casually mention to him that I’ve seen his fiancée naked, in my arms?” said Madara, the toy teasing ever closer.

“Why are you torturing me? I’ve been so good,” pleaded Sakura. Her feet couldn’t touch the ground and her arms were still tied behind her back. It left her unable to gain any leverage to lift her hips to reach for the suction she so dearly needed.

“Hn?” asked Madara, bringing it closer.

“Please, Madara,” begged Sakura, twisting and rubbing herself against him. She buried her face in Madara’s shirted chest. “Please put it in me. I want it.”

“How badly do you want it?”

“I’ll be a good omega, I promise,” said Sakura, desperately. “I’ll take your knot.”

“You already have,” chuckled Madara. “What I want is your release.”

“Please, take it— _ ngh! _ ”

Sakura tensed when Madara gave her what she wanted. The toy nestled against her clit and sent shivery sensations throughout her body, electrifying her with each wave.

“More?” asked Madara, pressing the button to increase the intensity, until Sakura was trembling and panting in his arms. “Remember, you aren’t allowed to come until I say so, Sakura.”

“Please,” begged Sakura, shaking. She could barely control her legs. Madara had to restrain her wrists so she didn’t snap the pearl necklace wrapped around them. Her mind was mush and all she knew was the alpha restraining her was pleased. That pleased her to no end, but Sakura also struggled to control herself within those restraints.

“Will you be an obedient omega?” asked Madara.

“Yes!”

“Will you listen to your alpha?”

“Yes!”

Madara increased the intensity of the toy one last time, and Sakura shook, her body going taut as she fought against the overwhelming urge to release.

“Will you release yourself now?”  
  
“Yes!”

“Come now,” ordered Madara.

And something took over Sakura before she could reply. She snapped up, biting Madara’s shoulder with a savage growl as her climax overtook her completely. When she heard Madara’s own guttural moan, she pulsed with the strength of it. Her eyes clenched shut, her body ascended, and the explosion inside her paralyzed her and left her numb.

It was a solid minute later that she came to herself again, and the ache in Sakura’s jaw reminded her that she needed to release Madara’s likely throbbing shoulder.

“Sorry,” murmured Sakura, her throat raw as she sagged against Madara. She closed her eyes, embarrassment flooding her even as the aftershocks of her orgasm continued to course impressively through her body.

When Madara let out a quiet breath, reaching down to gently lift Sakura’s chin, she startled. His eyes were soft and warm.

“Never apologize for what you are,” said Madara, protective and fierce.

He leaned in close, and Sakura’s breath caught.

Instead of kissing her, he leaned his forehead against hers, holding her close. Their breath mixed a moment as the candlelight burned around them. It cast shadows on the walls and wrapped them in its comforting, intimate glow.

“Get dressed,” said Madara, reaching around Sakura to carefully release the pearls that bound Sakura’s wrists.

Swallowing down the emotion rising in her throat, Sakura pressed her lips together.

“The pictures?” she asked, her voice cracking.

“Will be ready in two days,” said Madara, standing. 

He set Sakura on her feet. She was relieved she only wobbled a little on her unsteady knees. With his long hair hiding his expression from her, Madara nodded to himself.

“I’ll have them ready. If you tell me which are your favourites, I’ll create prints.”

Picking up her discarded panties, Sakura covered her still-throbbing sex. 

“I know you said my money was worthless here—,” she began, but Madara turned his back on her.

“Two days,” said Madara. He reached down to pick up the teddy he had helped her remove earlier and paused. “Do you need assistance?”

Sakura swallowed, shaking her head no. “I’ll be fine.”

Madara’s shoulders straightened, and Sakura noticed he displayed no evidence of the pain of her bite. Perhaps she had imagined how hard she bit him?

“I’ll leave you to get changed,” said Madara, walking to the office at the back of the studio.

Within a few minutes Sakura was dressed and closing the studio door behind her. 

From the office above, Madara watched her go.

* * *

The next morning, Sakura couldn’t believe her eyes.

Her jaw ached, her throat was sore, but otherwise she didn’t have a mark on her. The last bruises from her first evening with Madara and Itachi were finally fading. But, no matter where she looked, she found not a single print, bruise or passion mark on any part of her skin to evidence her time with Madara the night before.

Even the pearls around her wrists had left no marks, as Madara had not tied them tightly.

For the second time in as many days, Sakura found herself grateful for Madara’s consideration. And also, confused.

* * *

On Thursday afternoon, Sakura kept her phone in her pocket and checked it anxiously every few minutes. Several nurses gave her a side-eye, but Sakura just lifted her phone and explained, “Waiting for an important call.” That seemed to mostly clear up the gossip.

She still felt tense, though she was confident that Madara would pull through.

How many pictures had he taken that night?  
  
How many would be ready?  
  
Had they even discussed a number?

Cursing herself alone in her office, Sakura dug her hands in her hair and pulled. She was an idiot. Idiot, idiot, idiot. They hadn’t made any firm plans. Madara had taken advantage of her naiveté again, and it was her fault since she just trusted him blindly and—

Sakura’s phone buzzed on her desk and she seized it, answering before she’d even looked at the caller.

“Are they ready—”

“Sakura?” 

Suckerpunched, Sakura gaped.

“Itachi,” stuttered Sakura. “Where are you?”

“The Konoha runway,” said Itachi. “Are you still at work?”

“You’re back?!”

“Yes… is that okay?” asked Itachi slowly.

“It’s great! It’s perfect!” babbled Sakura, her heart pounding wildly in her chest. “It’s just a surprise. I thought you weren’t getting in until tomorrow.”

“Well, when you didn’t send me any reminders, I thought I would try and get home early,” chuckled Itachi. “I didn’t want you putting yourself to any hardship for me. I thought we could take some pictures together, tonight...”

Sakura bit the inside of her cheek, hard. Panic, guilt and anticipation warred inside her.

“Sakura?”

Realising she had paused too long, Sakura focused back on the conversation again.

“Sorry, still working,” said Sakura. “I will absolutely be by tonight after work.”

“I was going to wait for you at your place…”

Sakura laughed.

“My place is a wreck after my hours this week,” she said, relaxing a bit. “I’ll be by as soon as I can. Did you want to get takeout?”

“I want to eat you,” said Itachi, making heat rise in Sakura’s cheeks.

“I’ll see you tonight,” promised Sakura.

When she hung up she noticed her workday had officially ended. There was still no word from Madara on her phone.

“Fuck,” muttered Sakura.

* * *

The door lock buzzed before Sakura’s hand connected with the intercom outside Madara’s studio, and Sakura’s shoulders relaxed. At least he’d been waiting for her. She entered and looked around the lobby. The room was silent.

“Madara?” she called, peeking down a corridor. “It’s Sakura.”

“Come in,” called back Madara from inside the studio. “I’m at the back, in the office.”

Hurrying down the hall, Sakura kept looking around. There were no staff at all there that evening. It was both a blessing and a curse.

“There you are,” said Sakura, as she made her way to the office with the computers. “Is everything ready to go…”

She had never seen Madara wearing glasses or with his hair up, and something deep inside her purred when he looked up at her from his desk. He collected some black and white photographs from a nearby printer and slid them into a manila envelope.

“Just about,” he said, his voice gravelly.

Sakura’s brow furrowed.

“Are you ill?”

“No.” When Sakura kept looking at him, Madara relented somewhat. “It was a long night for a special client,” said Madara, yawning into his shoulder. He winced, offering her the brown manila envelope. “These are for you. We haven’t had time to go over them together, so I chose a few to print for you. The rest are copied to the USB key in the envelope.”

Surprised, Sakura opened the envelope up and peeked inside. Her mouth dropped.

“Hn?” asked Madara, leaning back in his chair.

“Nothing, they’re just… beautiful,” admitted Sakura, awestruck.

Madara huffed, insulted.

“Well, it felt like I disappointed you the other day,” explained Sakura, still looking at the pictures. 

“You weren’t ready to be true to yourself around me,” said Madara after a moment. “I doubt you are around Itachi, either.”

Sakura’s fingers froze as she perused the pictures.

“Yes I am,” she said.

Madara shook his head tiredly. “Would you let me bind you, then? Not with pearls but with rope? Do you trust me? You think you do, but do you really? Could you give in to your instincts long enough to submit to Itachi or me completely?” asked Madara, shocking Sakura into silence. “Could you accept yourself?”

Silent, Sakura just stared at Madara.

“You have the strength of will to stand against me, Sakura. It’s admirable. But do you have the strength to admit your vulnerabilities around us, to accept yourself and your instincts without us pushing you beyond the point of consent?”

“I consented. I gave,” said Sakura quietly.

“You enjoyed yourself physically. But did you satisfy your instincts?” asked Madara. “Or did you still yearn for more?”

Her jaw clenching, Sakura’s eyes turned hard.

“I love Itachi, and would not have come here if it weren’t for him.”

Madara stood from his chair, though slowly so as not to startle Sakura. He approached her calmly, releasing pheromones and lifting a hand to her cheek.

Instinctively Sakura softened and closed her eyes, a part of her trusting him, though she did not move closer to Madara. She let her head fall back slightly, exposing her throat, and her lips.

The heat from Madara’s body surrounded Sakura as Madara walked her back, step by step, until she was against the wall. Her breathing hitched as he leaned in, and yet still she held herself ready for him.

Madra’s lips caressed the hair beside her ear as he whispered, “Remember, when you next give yourself to Itachi, that in your hour of need I did not steal a single kiss. But you gave yourself to me willingly.” He tucked a lock of hair behind her other ear, adding, “I left not a mark on you. But you left your brand on me.”

The sound of his buttons being undone reached Sakura’s ears, and she opened her eyes. There, on Madara’s shoulder, was her bite. Sakura paled, then flushed, her instincts conflicted.  _ Soothe her alpha, push away the Madara-alpha, and hurry back to her Itachi-alpha. _

Madara pulled his shirt back into place, and Sakura’s instincts calmed somewhat with the reminder of her loss of control concealed once more. Her pulse still fluttered at her throat, however.

“Does it hurt?” she asked carefully.

Madara held her eye, then turned away.

“Do you need anything else?” he asked, returning to his computer. Instead of taking his seat, he leaned against the desk, watching Sakura. He crossed his arms, waiting.

Sakura clenched her jaw.

“No. Thank you for your help.”

“Hn.”

Sakura left with the envelope of pictures. In her car, she tucked the USB drive into a hidden pocket in her purse. She wanted to review it privately before sharing it with Itachi, just in case…

* * *

“You said a friend took these for you?”

Itachi and Sakura, naked in Itachi’s bed, curled together to review the printed pictures. Their evening had been wonderful: playful, enthusiastic and intimate. It was everything Sakura had needed to relax and let go of the stress from earlier in her week. Itachi was enthralled by the pictures, which also thrilled her.

“I was worried they would come out a bit pornographic,” admitted Sakura, laughing.

“This one is one of my favourites,” said Itachi, holding up one of Sakura’s more sensual poses. “But none of them come across as overly erotic. Well, maybe this one. My second favourite,” added Itachi, holding up another.

Sakura laughed and bumped his side with hers, looking through the pictures again. She could not get over how beautiful she looked. Madara must have spent hours on them, she realized, noting the lighting adjustments and how many were printed. And there were even more on the USB drive. Madara also, Sakura noted, had focused on her as a person. His pictures had brought out her personality and emotions, not simply showcased her body. 

It was empowering seeing herself looking so vivacious, confident and strong through Madara’s lens. 

“Did you have fun taking the pictures?” asked Itachi. 

They had sorted the pictures and put them back in the envelope for safekeeping. Now they curled into each other, the lamps turned off, as they lay down to sleep.

“A little. It was intense at times,” said Sakura with a yawn. 

Itachi leaned over to kiss Sakura on the forehead. “Sleep.”

Sakura nodded, her eyes already closed. “Love you.”

Itachi’s features softened. “I love you, too.”

As Sakura slept, Itachi lay awake for a little bit longer, considering the photos.

It was rare for Sakura to evade his questions. But Itachi knew when someone was not being entirely honest with him. His lips pressed together as he thought.

Sakura had not mentioned the photographer by name, but Itachi had a feeling he knew exactly who had convinced Sakura to do the shoot. He also suspected that something must have happened between Sakura and Madara for the photographs to have come out so naturally, for her to have looked so open and comfortable in them. It left him conflicted by her gift.

However, Itachi realized as he looked down at Sakura sleeping so peacefully beside him, it looked like Sakura had not made the same connection that he had: that Sakura had impressed Madara.

_ Fuck _ , thought Itachi tiredly, closing his eyes. 

* * *

  
  


**THE END (or is it?...)**


End file.
